The Journal Of Captain Edward J Smith
by Harriet Wilde
Summary: The Captain of the TITANIC Brings his journal with him on the ill fated liner's final voyage. He is lost but the journal is saved.
1. Sailing Day

The Journal of Captain Edward J. Smith, RNR

Prologue

The tall, white bearded gentleman in the grey overcoat and tall derby waited as his steward opened the suitcases he had brought aboard and prepared to unpack them. On the top of neatly folded shirts in one lay a thick book, its cover worn from years of use. A lovely midnight blue velvet, it boasted a small engraved brass plate which read, "Journal, Capt. Edward J. Smith".

Here he was, over twenty-five years after starting the journal, given him by his wife when he'd taken up his first command, all those years before. Oh yes, his first command. Beautiful, unforgettable _Republic_. Terribly old-fashioned, he now supposed, but he had loved her well, as, he now supposed, all masters did their first command.

Back then, in January of 1887, he'd been not only a new captain, but a newlywed as well, having married the very pretty and sweet-natured Eleanor Sarah Pennington shortly before assuming command of the then-thirteen year-old _Republic_. My yes, what days those had been. There he'd been thirty-seven year old Edward J. Smith, tall, strapping, dark-haired, coming home after his first voyage as a captain, to find Eleanor waiting for him at the Liverpool Landing Stage, so pretty in her dark blue velvet coat and hat, beaming at him with love and pride.

Now, here he was, twenty-five years later, standing in the Captain's Suite of his final command, the brand-new, ultra-luxurious _Titanic_, latest flagship of the White Star Line.

After slipping off his coat and derby and handing them to Paintin, his steward, he walked into the sitting room of the suite and sat down on the sofa, journal in hand. He had a bit of time until Wilde, the Chief Officer for this voyage, would present himself for report. Smith had a bit of time to read and write and now he would.

April 10, 1912

At last it is sailing day for _Titanic_ and all her crew and passengers. You would think that I could see that I have been commanding ships for a good quarter-century now, but as seems to be true—at least as the cliché would have it—I honestly cannot believe that it is twenty-five years since I first walked the decks of my _Republic_ as a newly-minted master.

Unfortunately, as is often true in this world, there is bother along with the glory of commanding my final "mistress of the moment" as Eleanor sometimes calls my ship. I called in Wilde to replace Murdoch as Chief Officer—just for the maiden voyage as he is to assume command of _Cymric_ upon his return. Murdoch is a fine and capable officer, but this is a very important voyage for the Line and Murdoch has yet to serve as a Chief Officer. Best that someone like Wilde take over just for this one voyage.


	2. First Night Out

Chapter Two-First Night Out

"I have a bit of time before turning in, so I am able to scribble a few words. I must say that near-miss with the NEW YORK at Southampton was worrisome, though it all came right and no harm done. If nothing else it prove the naysayers wrong: mastery of these new ships is possible. I must say that TITANIC performed magnificently and we were able to avoid disaster very neatly.

It is almost mind-boggling to see the sort of passengers I have the honour of ferrying back and forth across the Pond these days. I entertained Henry Harris and his lovely wife. Interesting fellow, Harris. Imagine spending ones life producing plays and musicals! Not for me, but it might be a great deal of fun for a chap given to that sort of thing. I saw a matron with a necklace that must be worth several years' salary. Amazing the American millionaire class. The Cardezas are travelling in the starboard suite with the private promenade..that alone is worth a good years' salary for me!

I truly look forward to a stellar end to my years at sea. But I confess to being well-content to stay ashore with my wife and daughter. So many men don't get the chance to spend their last years ashore. I am thankful that I shall have that chance.


	3. Second Afternoon Out

"April 11, 1912

I now have a bit of free time, so I shall write a bit.

We are now westward bound from Queenstown and headed for the open ocean. It was wonderful to watch the third class boarding…so much happiness and hope on their faces. It is not only taking the wealthy and titled to New York and back that makes me happy and deeply content; it is seeing those looks on the faces of the less well-off as they board and knowing that my taking them to the New World will help some of their dreams come true, perhaps, as well.

Wilde has been acting a bit 'off' this trip and I suspect it has to do with the death of his wife and youngest children, poor soul. I do not know what I can do to ease his way now that I am leaving the sea, but well, he has been given command of _Cymric_ and whilst it will not replace his loss, I pray that he will find some peace and happiness in commanding her. What an unspeakably heavy cross he was given in the passing of three whom I know he held so dear…I must say he has borne up magnificently under it all…I can only wonder how well I would bear up should something happen to Eleanor or Mel."

Smith sighed as he laid his pen aside. The blow Wilde had suffered had to be the worst imaginable blow for any man, especially Wilde, who had been very in love with his late wife. Wilde and he and their wives had been friends for many years now and Smith had done his best to make things easier for Wilde. That would end when they reached Southampton. Still, Wilde would do well…of that Smith was certain. The man was one of those sorts who had been literally _born_ to sail ships, born to command them.

Well, now, time to go down for a spot of tea and hobnob with the first class for a bit before coming back up to dress for dinner. That was a comforting thing about ship life if one were a creature of habit. First morning report, then daily inspection—except for Sundays when it was replaced with a prayer service—then, the noon "shooting with sextant to determine their position and the number of miles travelled since the previous noon, followed by what could be termed a "navigational conference, at least by the bureautcratically-minded, followed by lunch, a stint on the bridge, then tea, dressing in his formal uniform, succeeded by dinner, a postprandial smoke, a last visit to the bridge and finally, bed. It really was very comforting to adhere to a schedule that had likely been followed in one form or another for hundreds of years.


End file.
